


Don't Call Me Mouse

by redbinderdiaries



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: 6th season, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23548852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbinderdiaries/pseuds/redbinderdiaries
Summary: This story idea got its start on the 6th season Hey Arnold forums.https://ha6s.forumotion.com/t341-don-t-call-me-mouse-a-phoebe-ep?highlight=mouseLike with Wolfgang and Nadine, this was a random crack pairing that seemed to make sense.The first chapter really starts strong, but I just lost interest halfway through; apologies for this fanfic ending abruptly. (Read 'Wolfgang and Nadine' if you want your fix of crazy crack pairings).
Relationships: Phoebe Heyerdahl/Big Gino





	Don't Call Me Mouse

“Phoebe, can I see you for a moment?”

“Of course…”

It was the end of the school day at P.S. 118. The bell had rung and the students had just filed out of the classroom, save for Phoebe, who remained in her seat.

“What did you wish to speak to me about, Mr. Simmons?”

“Well, Phoebe,” began Mr. Simmons, leaning on his desk, “First of all, I’d just like to congratulate you on yet another perfect mark on your math test.

Phoebe beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Simmons – it’s simply the causal product of time devoted to studying and the focused intent on the will to succeed. With the proper incentive, any student could achieve the same results.”

“That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. You see, Phoebe, there’s a student in the other 4th grade class that’s having an extremely difficult time grasping the material being taught. No one else has been able to through to him, but I’m confident in your ability and willingness to learn and help others. Phoebe: how would you like the special opportunity of being a tutor?”

* * *

Helga waited from across the hall as Phoebe emerged from the classroom.

“Thank you, Phoebe!” said Mr. Simmons.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” replied Phoebe. “I won’t let you down.”

Mr. Simmons nodded and closed the door to the classroom, and Phoebe went to rejoin her friend.

“So what the heck was THAT about?” asked a curious Helga.

“Mr. Simmons elected me to tutor one of our fellow classmates in the subject of mathematics,” replied Phoebe, a twinge of pride in her voice.

Helga became intrigued. “Oh, really? So who’s the dummy?”

“Helga!” scolded Phoebe. “That’s not very nice! Besides, I made a promise to Mr. Simmons not to divulge the identity of the student. It’s a matter of strict confidentiality. I’m to meet with them this afternoon.”

“So I guess we’re not going to be hanging out at my house tonight?” sighed Helga, disappointed.

“It’s only once a week. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that Phoebe walked towards the exit.

“Hey, Phoebe!” Gerald called out. “Where are you headed?”

“You’re wasting your breath, tall-hair boy!” mocked Helga, derisively. “Or haven’t you heard? She’s under a contract of ‘strict non-disclosure’”. As she said this, Helga made the air-quotation gesture.

* * *

“Well, this looks like the place…” Phoebe examined the sheet of paper in her hand one more time. “427 Mulholland Drive…”

She knocked on the door. A woman answered; middle-aged and thin, with big hair and wearing too much make-up.

“Hello…I’m looking for a…” she quickly scanned the sheet again. “Lawrence?”

“Yeah, yeah,” replied the woman, taking a sip from the coffee mug clutched in her hand. “I’ll go grab ‘em. Come on in.”

Phoebe followed behind the woman into the narrow corridor. The house had a very “lived-in” feel to it, especially the living room, which was cluttered and had the television blaring.

“Laurie!” yelled the woman, searching every room for her missing son. After a fruitless effort, she sucked her teeth and let out an exasperated sigh. “That boy…sometimes I don’t know what I’m gonna do with him.”

“You lookin’ for Laurie?” replied a man in the kitchen with a thick Jersey accent. “I seen him – he’s messin’ around in that there clubhouse of his out back.” The man pointed to the kitchen door, leading into the back yard.

“Thank you,” said Phoebe, and exited the house through the back door. Sure enough, Phoebe had spotted a large clubhouse situated behind the house. As she approached the entrance of the clubhouse, she read the sign on the front that said “Deliveries”.

Phoebe knocked on the door. After several second, an eyehole slit on the door slid open and two eyes stared at her dubiously.

“Can I help you?” interrogated the eyes

“I’m…I’m here to see Lawrence.”

“What about?”

“Matters pertaining to academia.”

The eyes glared at Phoebe. “I dunno what youse just said, so I’m gonna let you in to talk to him herself."

The eyehole slit shut, and the door swung open, held by a tall boy with his black hair slicked into a pompadour. Phoebe entered the dimly lit clubhouse. It was small and square, but literally swamped with a myriad of sugary sweets: Yahoo! sodas, chocolate bars – the place was a veritable candy shop of delight for any child in the city, let alone to the boy to whom the clubhouse belonged.

At the wall opposite the door stood a desk and a swivel chair; the chair was turned away from Phoebe. On the ground a few feet away from Phoebe stood a groveling Chocolate Boy.

“I’m losing my patience, my friend…” said a voice that appeared to come from the chair.

“Come on!” begged Chocolate Boy. “You know I’m good for it! Just let me have one more malted milk ball on credit!”

After several tense seconds the chair finally spoke. “Okay. But you got three days to pay me back.” A solitary round candy flew from the chair and into the hands of the Chocolate Boy, who greedily scarfed it down. The sound of a finger snap could be heard. “Tony,” said the chair. A large red-headed kid with a stocky build emerged from the corner of the clubhouse and approached the desk. “Make this guy scarce.”

The red-head nodded, then picked Chocolate Boy up off the ground and tossed out of the open door of the clubhouse, right in front of Phoebe.

“Hey boss,” said the lanky black-haired boy. “This girl wants to see you!”

“Yeah?” Finally, the chair swirled around so that Phoebe could get a good look at its occupier: a diminutive boy in a grey suit and slicked back brown hair. Hanging from his mouth was a lollipop. The boy regarded Phoebe with a beguiling look. “So...how _YOU_ doin’?”

Unfazed, Phoebe approached the desk with her hand outstretched for shaking. “You must be Lawrence. My name is Phoebe Heyerdahl, and I…”

The other two boys flinched as if they had been shot. The boy in the chair motioned to Phoebe to stop talking. “Whoa, whoa! What did you just call me?”

“L-Lawrence. That’s your name…isn’t it?”

One the taller boys slapped his hand to his forehead. The boy in the chair sat up in his seat, removed the lollipop from his mouth and pointed it at Phoebe. “The name…lil’ lady…is Big Gino…alright?”

Phoebe flushed red. “Oh. I-I’m sorry. I’m just going off of what the paper…”

“So what can I do for you, Miss Heyerdahl?”

“Actually, I was hoping to help _you_. I’m your new tutor.”

At that, the other boys broke out into the laugh, which was cut short by the snapping of Big Gino’s finger. “Tutor? I don’t need no tutor. I can spell just fine. F-E-E-B-I-E, Phoebe. There, ya see?”

“Actually,” retorted Phoebe. “That’s not true. In fact, I was told that if you don’t pass your next English test, you’ll be forced to enroll in summer school.”

“Sure, sure,” said an uninterested Big Gino, waving her off. “Listen, Mouse…”


End file.
